Weather of the Heart ~

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Monday, July 29, 2013

Precious angel, under the sunHow was I to know you’d be the oneTo show me I was blinded, to show me I was goneHow weak was the foundation I was standing upon?

Now there’s spiritual warfare and flesh and blood breaking downYa either got faith or ya got unbelief and there ain’t no neutral groundThe enemy is subtle, how be it we are so deceivedWhen the truth’s in our hearts and we still don’t believe?

Shine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meYa know I just couldn’t make it by myselfI’m a little too blind to see

My so-called friends have fallen under a spellThey look me squarely in the eye and they say, “All is well”Can they imagine the darkness that will fall from on highWhen men will beg God to kill them and they won’t be able to die?

Sister, lemme tell you about a vision I sawYou were drawing water for your husband, you were suffering under the lawYou were telling him about Buddha, you were telling him about Mohammedin the same breathYou never mentioned one time the Man who came and died a criminal’s death

Shine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meYa know I just couldn’t make it by myselfI’m a little too blind to see

Precious angel, you believe me when I sayWhat God has given to us no man can take awayWe are covered in blood, girl, you know our forefathers were slavesLet us hope they’ve found mercy in their bone-filled graves

You’re the queen of my flesh, girl, you’re my woman, you’re my delightYou’re the lamp of my soul, girl, and you torch up the nightBut there’s violence in the eyes, girl, so let us not be enticedOn the way out of Egypt, through Ethiopia, to the judgment hall of Christ

Shine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meShine your light, shine your light on meYa know I just couldn’t make it by myselfI’m a little too blind to see

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Saturday, June 8, 2013

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Thanatopsis

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificient. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods--rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadow green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, and when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like a quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

About Me

“Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away... and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast.... be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust.... and don't expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke